


Breach and Closure

by chameleonCharisma



Series: SCP: South Park [1]
Category: SCP Foundation, South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - SCP Foundation, Angst, Blood and Gore, M/M, creek - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-18 23:34:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13110858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chameleonCharisma/pseuds/chameleonCharisma
Summary: He told them this would happen.Craig takes action, Tweek waits.





	Breach and Closure

**Author's Note:**

> More SCP: South Park!  
> In which Tweek is a Euclid-class SCP who transforms into a homicidal monster when deprived of caffeine, and Craig is a Junior Researcher.

When the alarm sounds to signal a containment breach, Craig is already on his feet. He pays no mind to the directions over the PA system. He ignores his colleagues rushing past him in the opposite direction. He marches with grim determination towards the employee lounge. 

He told them this would happen.

It’s barely been two weeks since the higher-ups had started experimenting on Tweek again. He had been stressed, anxious, terrified. Experiments meant withdrawal. Withdrawal meant transforming. Transforming meant people would die. 

Craig had tried to play the voice of reason to the Head Researcher. SCP-████, he reasoned (god he hated calling him that), was getting better; was more calm than ever recorded. The experiments, he continued, would only make things worse; make him less likely to be compliant, make him more likely to break containment. 

The Head Researcher had laughed in Craig’s face. Craig was just a Junior Researcher, a newbie, what did he know? And wasn’t he getting too close to SCP-████ anyway? Better that proper scientists keep a professional distance. After all, he had laughed, a knowing sneer on his face, people were getting ideas. 

So Craig had flipped him off, thought for a moment, and then punched him in the face for good measure. He had been immediately suspended, and the Head Researcher had threatened to have him fired, perhaps even demoted to D-Class. (That researcher was also probably dead now, though, so Craig supposed it didn’t really matter. It certainly served the sick old fuck right, at any rate.)

As it stands now, the breach has more than likely been caused by Tweek. And Craig knows there’s only one damn thing that’s going to fix this before the fucking security personnel go in there and “neutralize the threat.” So he fills a to-go cup with the strongest coffee the vending machine will give him, and he makes a b-line for the Euclid wing.

It’s bad, when he gets there. 

The guard post at the junction of the hallway before Tweek’s cell is abandoned. Most of what’s left of the guards is dripping down the walls and pooling across the floor further off. The body of the Head Researcher is slumped against the wall near the cell door. Anyone else in Craig’s shoes might be rethinking their life choices. 

But Craig is too angry, too worried, to be properly terrified. He never for one moment considers that maybe, just maybe, this is a bit of a mistake. (But then, he’s never considered anything to do with Tweek a mistake.) He enters the room without even thinking.

Its (no, _Tweek’s_ ) eyes are on him immediately. Huddled in the far corner, blood drips from his talons, and a deep, rattling growl sounds in his throat at Craig’s intrusion. 

“Hey,” Craig manages tightly. “Hey, there, Tweek.” He tries to inch forward, but that only pisses Tweek off. The growl becomes more of a snarl, teeth bared. His eyes are pinpricks of light in deep, dark sockets, and they just about seem to burn. 

Craig keeps trying. “Come on,” he murmurs. “Just gotta calm down. It’s alright, see?” He steps slowly around a pool of blood, holding the to-go cup out in front of himself like a talisman. “It’s just me, you know? Just me. Craig. Remember?” He taps his chullo hat for emphasis.

Tweek slowly uncurls from the corner, still growling, but his head cocks to the side _just_ so. That’s good, Craig thinks. Interest and not murder is good. “Yeah, sure you do,” he continues. He crouches low against the furthest wall, trying to make himself smaller, less threatening. He sits, sets the coffee down beside him, and reaches out to Tweek, hands empty and open. “I’m not gonna hurt you. You know that. Everything’s gonna be fine.”

Slowly, achingly slowly, Tweek advances. The harsh rattle in his throat never stops, but it isn’t exactly menacing. Craig’s actually pretty sure Tweek is terrified. He wonders how much of these episodes he remembers. He spares a glance at the ruined bodies in the room and in the hall. Hopefully not too much. 

It takes long, long seconds, but finally Tweek looms before him, in all his SCP glory. Craig is almost close enough to reach out and touch him, and he considers it—when suddenly one of the fallen guards' radios crackles to life in a horrible burst of harsh static.

_“TUCKER?! TUCKER, GET YOUR ASS OUT OF THERE, WHAT ARE YOU—!”_ Craig grabs for it, scrambles for the switch, but it’s too late— the moment is gone. With an inhuman shriek, Tweek lunges forward those last few feet, and his teeth sink deep into Craig’s shoulder, pinning him to the wall. 

Craig barely manages to keep himself from screaming. It’s like someone detonated a bomb in his shoulder, white hot, and he feels teeth grind agonizingly against bone. But if he scares Tweek again, he’ll only make things worse. 

So Craig reaches out with his good arm and runs his hand across Tweek’s shoulder. 

The action seems to confuse Tweek more than anything; while he doesn’t release Craig, he doesn’t tear him in half, either. It’s a start. “Hey, Tweek.” His voice is choked and raw, but steady. “I’m sorry...That probably scared you real bad, huh?” He strokes his fingers through Tweek’s hair, thinking, through the haze of pain, about how his mom used to take care of him when he was small and scared. “It’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you. _They_ aren’t gonna hurt you, either. They aren’t gonna fucking _touch_ you, okay? It’s alright, I swear to god, it’s gonna be okay…” His voice wavers, and the touch turns into more of an embrace as Craig clutches at Tweek, trying desperately to keep the edges of his vision from going black. He’s still got some feeling in his left arm, so he angles his wrist to brush his fingers against Tweek’s hand. “It’s okay…”

And somehow, the low rumble of aggression slows, dulls, stops altogether. A shuddering whine takes its place. Something sparks in Tweek’s eyes, and in a wonderful, beautiful moment of relief, he releases Craig. The whine turns into a croaking sob, and Craig feels his heart break a little. 

Tweek recognizes him. 

“Shhhhh, shhh, shh...” He keeps his voice low, keeps stroking Tweek’s hair. “It’s alright. You didn’t mean it, it’s okay, shhh….” Tweek utters a broken little cry, and Craig brings his ragged arm around in a proper embrace, pain or no. 

After a few moments, the adrenaline racing through his system finally connects to his brain, and Craig remembers why he was here in the first place. “Hhhh. Where’s that fucking coffee cup…” He gropes around him with his good hand and finds it miraculously upright. “Hey, Tweek. Hey, here you go. This’ll help, won’t it…?”

Tweek, who has been staring, devastated, at Craig’s wound, looks up sharply, eyes wide. His taloned hands scrabble for it, and Craig is only too willing to give it up. Tweek rips the lid away and brings his maw down around the paper cup, drinking deep and desperate.

It starts to work almost immediately. Tweek’s already noticeably less bulky: tail fading, talons retreating, teeth settling back to their normal size and shape. By his third gulp his voice is recognizable, and for Craig it’s the worst part. He’d prefer the threatening growl to the guilty, aching sobs. He hugs Tweek back to his chest, muttering reassurances into his ear, ignoring the flare of pain and the tacky blood still dripping down his back. The cup’s empty when Tweek finally finds his words, his wet, green eyes slowly fading in from the black sockets.

“Craig, I didn’t— I can’t— God, I’m so _sorry—!_ ” And anything else that might be said trails off into shuddering sobs, and Craig just shakes his head, keeps him close.

“No, nono, shhhhh…”

He doesn’t know exactly when people finally come to survey they damage, but come they do. He’s vaguely aware of being separated from Tweek, and he thinks he might lash out as he struggles. Someone yells something about leaving, and infirmaries, and blood, but Craig just wants Tweek safe. He thinks he says so. He hopes he says so. It’s getting hard to think. He’s lying down very suddenly, but someone has his hand, and he thinks it might be Tweek, so he thinks about holding on as hard as he can. Then something jars his shoulder, and the world turns grey, and he doesn’t think about anything at all.

* * *

“He’s going to be alright, you know.”

The voice snaps Tweek out of his daze, makes him jump badly. “W-what?”

The black haired woman sitting in the waiting room with him smiles a bit at that. “Junior Researcher Tucker,” she clarifies. “He’ll be alright.” 

Tweek looks down at Craig’s hat in his hands, feeling miserable. “He might not have been...”

The guards had come, finally, to make sure Craig wasn’t dead. It had been a near thing, too. If Tweek had nicked an artery, he’d definitely have died before help arrived. They’d whisked Craig off to the medical bay (though he’d been fairly adamant he stay to protect Tweek; had, in fact, punched another researcher square in the face in the ensuing struggle), and Tweek had stayed there, clothing shredded, covered in blood, still sobbing. 

At least until the arrival of the woman in question, dressed in a crisp black suit, who shouted down the head of security who wanted him “neutralized”, who insisted on his changing and showering, who personally escorted him to the waiting room where they’d been ever since. 

He assumes she must be one of the staff psychologists. But she has not asked about what happened in his holding cell. She has not even asked about the experiments leading up to it. She has instead asked a lot of questions about him and about Craig, and also gotten up three times to get him more coffee. 

Her voice shakes him from his thoughts again. “You didn’t kill him, though.”

“I could have,” he chokes out. “I almost did.”

“But you didn’t,” she says again. “You controlled yourself, in that moment. You recognized him.”

That part is still a little hazy in his mind, though. He remembers the withdrawal starting. He remembers the pressure behind his teeth and the splitting headache. He remembers red, red, red. And somewhere in there, he knows Craig spoke to him, calmed him...and was attacked by him. The memory of the taste of blood in his throat, Craig holding him close, apologizing as if he was the one to blame… And then recovery, blessed caffeine, and realizing fully what he had done.

He has told this strange woman his version of events several times now, though this is the first time he manages it without sobbing. She gave him Craig’s hat to hold on to while they waited. It’s more comforting than it should be. 

“You recognized him, SCP-████. I think you should give yourself more credit. Junior Researcher Tucker certainly does.” She smiles at him then, and he thinks suddenly, in the back of his mind, that she’s very young. “He’s helped you immensely, but you’ve done a lot of growing as well.”

He shrugs a bit at this, skeptical. It doesn’t change what he’s done, and not just to Craig. He’s killed people. So, so many.

“You shouldn’t have even been in experiments these past few weeks.” Tweek’s head snaps up, and he’s surprised to see irritation on her face. “Your condition was stable, remarkably so. Junior Researcher Tucker even approached them beforehand. But they went ahead with testing anyway. And for that I’d like to apologize.” She takes a deep breath. “The Foundation is meant for humanity’s protection from objects and creatures such as yourself; but it’s also meant for _your_ protection, from those who would use and harm you.”

Tweek is too stunned to speak. He’s at a complete loss.

“I understand if you don’t trust us, SCP-████, but Junior Researcher Tucker has shown nothing but care and compassion for you.” Her mouth quirks oddly, eyes amused. “Much more than he strictly should.”

Tweek feels his face growing warm, realizing what she’s getting at. He’s tried not to think much about whatever it is he feels for Craig, for Craig’s own sake. But it’s awfully hard when Craig is so gentle when they speak. When he smiles and laughs and looks _at_ Tweek, not through him. He thinks about Craig, gravely injured but still holding him close, and his stomach flip-flops.

“You’ve had quite the effect on him as well, of course.” And that really gets his attention, as much as he hates himself for it. If the woman notices, she doesn’t let on. She simply regards her own cup of coffee as she continues. “He’s an abrasive young man. More inclined to rude gestures than team work. But there’s been a substantive shift in his personality lately. It’s been noted by several researchers and other staff who’ve worked with him. And it seems to have started around the time he was assigned to you, SCP-████.” 

And Tweek wants very, very badly to ask more about that, even if it isn’t his place to do so. But right at that moment, one of the medical staff steps into view.

“Ma’am,” he addresses the woman. “He can be seen now.” He eyes Tweek warily, but otherwise ignores him.

“Thank you.” She looks to Tweek. “Shall we?” 

Guilty or not, there’s no way he could say no to that invitation. To give himself some much-needed courage, he puts on Craig’s hat. It feels just a little bit like armour.

The room is dim and full of softly beeping machines. When Tweek sees Craig, his eyes well up, and everything warps to a too-bright blur. “Craig…!” His voice breaks, shatters, really, but god it’s so good to see him safe.

And even though he’s doped up on painkillers and hooked to about four different machines, he smiles just a bit through that haze, his good hand struggling weakly against the sheets. Tweek doesn’t hesitate to move and take it, doesn’t think about the waiting room woman’s knowing look, doesn’t think about how the medical staff might react to him grabbing the man he tried to kill only hours before; all he can think of is touching Craig.

“H-hey,” Tweek murmurs.

Craig squeezes his fingers. “Hey...” His voice is raspy and distant. Tweek sits on the bed next to him, reaching a hand to brush his hair out of his face. Craig’s eyes focus slightly. “...Hat,” he manages this time, and Tweek can’t quite help the soft smile that spreads across his face.

“Yeah. It’s mine until you’re better.”

Craig makes a sound that is probably protest; and it’s so familiar, this gentle almost-arguing. He’s still wracked with guilt, but he feels a little lighter like this.

Eventually, though, it’s time to go. Craig is exhausted, and needs rest to heal.

The woman guides him out of the medical room, and escorts him back towards his cell. The floors and walls of the hallway are already clean. He tries not to look at the guards when they wave them through the checkpoint.

They’re silent as they walk, and it’s not companionable silence, not by a long shot, but it isn’t really uncomfortable, either. And since she’s been so understanding, so oddly apologetic, so nice to him, Tweek can’t resist asking. “Can...can I see him again?” 

She turns to him, surprised. “Of course you can. Weren’t you listening before in the waiting room?” And that’s the end of that. 

They stop outside the door to his cell. He can’t smell blood anymore, which is a blessed relief. She scans her keycard, and he hears the familiar sound of the locks disengaging. His cell is clean, too.

He knows he needs to go back. He hates it. But it’s safe here.

“Um, thank you…” He realizes he has no idea who this woman actually is.

As if sensing this, she smiles, and holds out her hand, which he shakes awkwardly. “Site Director Wendy Testaburger. I hope we meet again under slightly happier circumstances, SCP-████.”

And then he’s inside, and the door is closing, and she’s gone. 

He struggles to process that, at first, but puts it aside for the time being. The first thing he does to occupy himself is to start the coffee maker. That’s going to be an obsessive priority-number-one for weeks, just like it always is after an “episode”. And after making sure he has a full pot of coffee in easy reach, he turns off the light and curls up tightly on his cot as the events of the day finally catch up to him. 

The tears aren’t long in coming.

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to my friends and co-conspirators on Discord. You guys are amazing.


End file.
